


19; undoing

by ralphstatortots



Series: george and alex [23]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: M/M, Omorashi, sorry to literally Everybody i hate myself already for u dw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 09:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18192923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralphstatortots/pseuds/ralphstatortots
Summary: “You done with this?” Alex asks, hovering beside the table next to the cup.No, I’m not,George wants to say,No, I’m about a minute away from pissing my fucking pants and I need you to not judge me and to pass me the cup.George wants to say, so badly.Instead, George nods his head, and the cup is gone.





	19; undoing

**Author's Note:**

> ik this is gross and this isnt the update u wanted from me lol please dont euthanise me for this bye

George is deep in three glasses of water, a bottle of flavoured vitamin water and some orange juice when he realises something’s not...quite right. At first he thinks it’s a bout of nervousness, brought on from thinking about posting the video that he’s editing, and he quickly waves it off. He always gets a bit anxious before posting, and George knows he’s not the only one that does. It’s nothing he can’t deal with by now.

Yet, there’s still something sitting in his gut, distracting enough that he sighs to himself and runs a hand through his hair. He can’t pinpoint it; George is in the mindset of editing, set too heavily on timestamps and clips and edits to realise what it could mean.

Alex is in the living room, having returned from recording a podcast episode not too long ago. He’d instantly put Spotify on the TV, and it’s loud enough that George thinks he could do with the company right now. It wouldn’t be the first time either of them had edited together and George is certain this won’t be the last. Maybe it’ll soothe whatever this is he’s feeling right now.

“Hey,” Alex greets him when George walks in, and he replies with the same sentiment. George easily loses himself back in his work, editing almost mindlessly until Alex pipes up.

“I got you a milkshake from McDonald’s, by the way.” Alex tells him, and George hums in acknowledgment. “It’s on the counter.”

“Cheers,” George slips off one headphone to hear Alex over the sound of his own voice on the video. “Can you pass it to me?”

Alex scoffs, barely looking up from his phone. “Can’t you get it?”

“I _could_ ,” George pretends to sound considering, but soon sighs and slumps back in the seat. “But I’m editing. Just pass it over, yeah? Think of all the times I’ve had to get something for you ‘cause you’re too fuckin’ lazy to get up.”

Alex makes a sad noise but stands regardless, slipping the condensation-covered cup into George’s hand as he passes by the chair again. “You don’t have to be mean about it.”

“Nobody else is gonna do it, are they?” George says, and Alex pouts at him like it’s a personal insult. “Shut up, you baby.”

“Says the one who’s drinking a milkshake, like a _child_.” Alex attempts to retort.

George only sighs and shakes his head, slipping the headphone back over his ear as he takes a sip from the milkshake. He quickly loses himself back into his phase of editing and Alex becomes a background noise with too loud Twitter videos and posting updates on his Instagram story.

Over half an hour later, when the milkshake cup is empty and George is clipping and inserting parts of the video he’d reacted to, that same nervous feeling arises again. It’s lower in his stomach now, distractingly heavy like a weight as he listens to his own voice. The weight doesn’t let up and the editing gets harder to focus on, and soon George sighs, frustrated.

Alex had wandered off to his room at some point – which George is thankful for now that he realises he’s pulling a face at his situation.

As a change of position, George tries to sit up using the short arms of the chair as leverage, only to wince when he’s successfully sat up with his laptop perched on his knees. Jesus, he needs to piss like _crazy_.

A small noise unexpectedly breaks from his throat as soon as George attempts to sit up properly, to straighten his back, _anything_ , but he always fails last second just as he’s about to. George feels like he could cry suddenly, and he feels the first beginning dampness of panic reach his eyes before that same weighted feeling returns, like a pressure sitting on his stomach.

The McDonald’s cup sits on the coffee table, as if taunting him, and George hates that he actually entertains the idea of pissing into a fucking paper cup right in his living room. It’s a scene he’d rather Alex not walk into suddenly, even if it does mean risking wetting himself like a damn child.

If he just holds it, George reasons – if he holds it long enough then it’ll pass. Then he can use the bathroom.

George groans at the thought of that, and something warmer than a humiliating pressure on his bladder settles in his stomach. He doesn’t even know how he got this far. How did he completely forget that drinking more than two litres of fluids could make you need to piss? A wave of embarrassment sits on his face, deepening the heat he can feel burning steadily on his cheeks.

A quick shuffle in his seat makes him catch his laptop, causing a gasp to slip from him and his thighs to tense. The dampness returns to his eyes, clinging to the brim of his vision.

Before George can even consider metaphorically saying ‘fuck it’, – to just pissing himself or to the McDonald’s cup, he’s not sure – Alex stumbles back in with some small boxes for recording equipment tucked under his arm.

“You done with this?” Alex asks, hovering beside the table next to the cup.

 _No, I’m not,_ George wants to say, _No, I’m about a minute away from pissing my fucking pants and I need you to not judge me and to pass me the cup._ George wants to say, so badly.

Instead, George nods his head, and the cup is gone. Thrown away along with the other rubbish and it’s too late for George to say otherwise. He just has to wait it out now. A heavy swallow he didn’t even realise he was taking gets stuck in his throat.

“You alright?” Alex asks him, but not for the reason George thought it was for. “Finish editing already?”

George shakes his head and hunches over. The pressure on his gut tightens, curling in his stomach like a fist. “No,” He answers through gritted teeth. “No, not yet.” His fingers bear down on the sides of his laptop, knuckles almost white as he tries to keep as still as possible.

Alex tuts, shaking his head as he loads up a game on the TV. George looks at Alex with stinging eyes, wetting his lips as he watches Alex take a swig of water. George swallows again, a sharp inhale echoing in his own ears. Alex doesn’t notice.

He tries to continue editing. George _tries_ to pretend that he doesn’t need to piss like his life depends on it, he _tries his fucking hardest_ to pretend he’s fine and that he’s not about to cry and let himself go all over their fucking chair. George is disgusted with himself when his dick twitches at the thought of relief.

A hand finds its way between his legs, squeezing at his inner thigh. It’s the closest place he can get without it seeming like he’s flat-out groping his crotch in the living room. “Fuck,” George breathes, a choked sound he barely hears himself make. Alex does though, looking over with a furrowed brow and concern painting his face.

“George? You alright?” Alex does sound genuinely concerned and it makes George feel a bit guilty for worrying him.

An answer can’t seem to make its way to George’s lips, can’t quite slip past this invisible barrier of cotton on his tongue. So he grits his teeth and clenches his eyes, so he can’t see the disgust on Alex’s face when he pushes the heel of his palm to his crotch. It’s relieving enough that George gasps again, like the pressure on his bladder has suddenly lifted, but soon regrets it when he feels that much closer to letting go.

“George?” Alex says again softly, breaking the fuzzy white noise in his ears. “What are you _doing?_ ”

George feels shame sit under his skin, sitting in his shoulders and running down his back until he gathers up what little courage he has to open his eyes again. Alex still looks concerned, perhaps a bit horrified, and George can’t help the whimper that slips from him.

“Fuck, Alex, I…” George cuts himself with a rough whining sound, curving his palm into his crotch again. He leans forward to put his laptop on the coffee table and lets another weak sound escape him from the pressure it puts on his bladder. “It’s fucking embarrassing.” He whispers when he can’t bring himself to go any louder.

“What…” Alex swallows and puts the controller on the table. “What’s going on, George?” He asks hesitatingly. Alex’s eyes keep wandering between George’s face and his hand.

Another wave of shame bubbles up in his chest and wetness returns to his eyes. “I need to piss, Alex.” He whispers, “I need t’piss, like I’m a fucking child.”

Alex doesn’t say anything for a few long seconds, and George debates his earlier panicked decision of pissing there and then or in the cup – except the cup isn’t an option anymore. It’s torturous; the pressure of his own palm, the silence dragging on the further Alex doesn’t speak, the idea of how he could just… _let go_ there and then.

“Then piss,” Alex says suddenly, enough to surprise George.

“Alex, I can’t.” George almost sobs, bringing his other hand up to his eye when they start to sting again. It’s _embarrassing_. “I can’t move to go.”

Alex sits silent again. “Then _go_.”

“Alex, I literally fucking _can’t_. I can’t move.” George does sob this time. Something wet lightly spills down his cheeks and Alex hushes him softly as he moves to sit in the other chair beside George, mumbling words of comfort that doesn’t actually reach George’s ears.

“Just–” Alex starts and grabs for his wrist, tugging his hand away from his crotch and George cries out when the heavy weight returns to his gut. “Just let me help. D’you trust me, mate?”

George nods before he can even register the question. He does trust Alex, even more so right now when it’s so hard to think of anything.

“Are you gonna let go, George?” Alex hums soothingly. “It’d be so much easier than sitting here suffering.”

“Alex, ‘m not pissing myself.” George huffs out weakly. He’s somehow stubborn even now, when he has no other option unless Alex grabs a bottle or something. George doubts the other man is going to do him that kindness.

“You would feel better, though – wouldn’t you?” Alex says. George bites his lip to hide the sob and blinks away the build of more tears in the corner of his eyes.

“This is fucking weird, Alex.” George breathes out. His arm twitches in Alex’s hold, itching to return his hand back between his legs.

Alex hums a soft noise. “So is forgetting to piss regularly like a normal person, George.”

George can’t help it – the weird, scratchy gasp that escapes him, alongside a warm wetness in his pants that makes his thighs clench together. He lets out a mangled mess of Alex’s name, earning another hush that goes right through George. He feels like he could shake and shudder like a frightened dog, could spill tears until he has no more, could piss himself right there and he wouldn’t have to feel like this any longer. Another twitch of his dick makes George’s eyes close tight.

“This is your fault,” George grits out. “You gave me that fucking milkshake when I didn’t even need it.”

Alex only smirks at him. The hand on George’s wrist lifts off and George almost thinks Alex is leaving him altogether, to tell somebody about this on Twitter or Instagram and have it be a running joke for months.

Alex doesn’t leave. Instead, his hand travels up to George’s inner elbow before resting on his stomach, making George inhale.

George opens his mouth, searching for any words he can, but he can’t when the hand on his stomach presses deep somewhere just slightly to the left of his abdomen. He almost keels over when he feels the building ache in his bladder, something humid settling under his skin. Alex’s fingertips curve and dig into a certain spot, like he’s searching for a spot he’s found before.

“ _Alex_ ,” George gasps out. He feels like he could burst and let go any second if Alex keeps up that same pressure. “Alex, fuck _sake_ –” He keens, strained and blocked in his throat before his hand returns between his legs, biting his lip as he desperately tries to stop himself from pissing all over himself. Another twitch in his pants and George whimpers.

Alex mumbles from somewhere next to him as he drags George’s hand back, fingers pressing down deep into his stomach, talking about _letting go_ , and George is helpless.

He loses control of it all, a quiet sob falling from his lips, thighs clenched against each other as the warm, wet spot in his pants grows. It’s a relief George relishes in, even if he feels _gross_ and _wet_. But Alex simply coos at him about letting it all out over George’s occasional relieved sob, fingers pressing deep into his abdomen until George is sure that it’s going to bruise later.

It’s definitely seeping into the chair too; he can feel the wet spot beneath his thigh, where it’s travelled down his thigh and is most likely staining the chair. George can’t find himself to be bothered, not when he wants to cry from relief every time a shudder falls down his shoulders.

“Alex,” George winces once it’s over. He’s just _pissed himself_ in their fucking living room, and the shame from before finally washes over him full force now with no distractions to occupy himself from it.

“Do you feel better now?” Alex asks, hand spread across George’s stomach and rubbing a soothing pattern that messes up his shirt.

George makes a reluctant noise but nods, cheeks burning red as he wipes at the wetness in his eyes. “I’m...I feel fucking disgusting.”

Alex hums and leans forward to kiss just shy of his mouth before George can realise what’s happening. “I’m proud of you.” Alex says, no joking or mocking tone to be found. “Should’ve just gone to the toilet like a fucking normal person though, George.”

A sigh escapes George as he tries to sit up, grimacing as he feels the damp pants cling to his skin. “Shut up and get a towel,” He mumbles, standing from the chair and grimacing once more when he catches sight of the darkened spot on the chair. “Sorry, though.”

“Don’t be,” Alex says quickly, throwing a towel from the washing basket onto the wet spot on the floor. George can’t help but flinch at the sight. “It...Was it good?”

George snorts weakly and makes his way down the hallway to the bathroom, and he knows Alex is following close behind. “Why you askin’? I’m starting to think you might have a thing for piss, Al.”

Alex scoffs but his cheeks flush, looking down at the floor as George hovers in the doorway to the bathroom. “Shut up,” He manages to say after a few seconds, and George grins. He’s not sure why he feels smug when he’s the one in wet, cold pants.

“I’m going to shower,” George says, as if it’s not obvious. “Don’t…Don’t tell anyone about this.” He says firmly, and Alex nods.

By the time George has locked himself in the bathroom, away from Alex’s heavy gaze, he’s far too deep in thoughts about how it all felt and something strange flutters in his abdomen, a heat easily travelling downwards. George shakes his head and brushes the thoughts off for now; he’s got plenty to think over later when he’s not stood in slowly drying piss-soaked pants.


End file.
